


if this isn't a kingdom then i don't know what is

by catteo



Series: i didn't know that we could break a silver lining [7]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/M, I'm really sorry about this, Smut, because that's the only way Grant Ward and I know how to show we love you, fairytale AU, john garrett is still a bad man, no happy endings here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catteo/pseuds/catteo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is part of the fairytale AU series and <i>very</i> loosely based on Raupnzel. If you tilt your head to the left and squint. Skye, obviously, is the titular heroine because how could she not be? Ward is always so desperate to be the hero and, well, Garrett’s already so good at being wicked that he took the mantle of evil queen without a murmur. Raina just wanted in on the action. You deserve to know that there are no happy endings here. I mean that very sincerely.</p>
<p>There were many requests for smut and I have done my best to oblige. I hope that it lessens the pain somewhat.</p>
<p>Please don't hate me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if this isn't a kingdom then i don't know what is

**Author's Note:**

> A note on timelines: because this is AU I'm taking total liberties with the canon timeline, and I felt that a little clarification may be needed. When Garrett goes off to Massachusetts to see about an investment, he’s breaking Ward out of juvie and Skye's 12 at that point. When Skye actually meets Ward it’s just after his 5 year stint in the wilderness.

There are whispers of a girl with extraordinary powers. Rumors that she can bend the ground to her will and destroy worlds with only a touch. The story goes that her father loved her mother very much. Her mother was stolen away by a monster, and her father would have done anything to save his wife. He left the girl with people he trusted. People that would give their lives to save her. He wasn’t to know that there were forces in the world beyond his comprehension. That evil was waiting; coiled in the darkness, ready to strike. The tales speak of immortality, a body plundered for its secrets, and a man driven mad with grief. A baby girl vanishes, and a truth is lost, like so many others before it.

 

 

 

 

 

But the story persists.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

She has dark eyes and dark hair that she wears loose, soft waves that tumble to her waist. She’s always known that there’s something different about her. She’s only got one parent, a father, and she’s called him ‘John’ for her entire life. Other kids that she talks to -- shy conversations in airports, train stations, motel swimming pools -- have two parents and they call them _momanddad_. The word sounds foreign on her tongue, a concept that she doesn’t fully understand at first. She doesn’t think that it matters though, because John counts to one hundred as he runs a brush through her hair, and tells her that she’s the most beautiful girl in the world. He smiles and says that she’s unique, like a single perfect flower waiting to bloom. He tells her the world isn’t ready yet for her to reach her full potential. He knows that one day she’ll take it by storm. She’ll make him proud.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s all she wants.

 

 

 

 

 

They spend her childhood like nomads, constantly on the move, never settling in one place for more than a few nights. John laughs as she stares, wide-eyed, at the weapons he produces, like a magician, from lockers around the world. He teaches her their names, the way to hold them, how to choose her ammunition with care. Her schoolyard comes in the form of gun ranges and endless fields of dry grass, crackling under even her slight weight, that leave the scent of autumn on her clothes for days.

 

 

 

 

 

They visit vast cities and strange continents and she charts them by the names on the pens that she steals from hotel rooms. John is the one constant in her young life. She’s six years old and all she really knows is that she doesn’t need anyone else. They have each other. They’re Daisy and John Garrett. She’s a princess waiting for her crown, and nothing could be more perfect.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

She barely notices at first, the way that things change as she grows older, the innocence of childhood making her blind. But eventually she begins to realize that John is slipping away from her, drifting on currents that she can’t seem to follow, his unhappiness beginning to color their lives. He leaves her alone more and more frequently, the pile of empty bottles left in hotel trashcans growing larger with each passing month. There are nights when she thinks that she can see his anger and discontent vibrating across the surface of his skin. Those are the nights when she curls in on herself, praying that her breathing is quiet enough not to draw his attention. Dark circles start to shadow the skin under her eyes as she struggles to comb the tangled knots from her hair. She wears long sleeves that cover the fingerprints of John’s disapproval. She’s beginning to feel like a stranger in her own life.

 

 

 

 

 

She works harder to please him; desperate for a sign that none of this is because John’s angry with her -- for proof that she’s not a disappointment. She sits quietly every night, no matter where they stay, cleaning an ever-expanding array of weapons. The smooth click and release of the shooting mechanism is like a lullaby, whispering a soothing melody that she’s been hearing all her life. She arranges the guns by size, then by caliber, and finally by the amount of damage they can do. It’s not until the last that she finally gets John to smile at her in approval. It’s just like the old days and the nerves -- fluttering like butterflies in her chest -- finally ease.

 

 

 

 

 

“That’s my girl,” he toasts her with a half-drunk bottle of beer, “I knew you’d get it eventually. If it wasn’t difficult…”

 

 

 

 

 

“It wouldn’t be any fun.” She dutifully finishes for him, smiling as John throws his head back and laughs. She wonders if his good mood will last, regretting the thought almost as soon as it crosses her mind. She should know better than to doubt him.

 

 

 

 

 

She wonders if maybe it’s her fault when they start having to move more frequently. John always seems to be looking over his shoulder, ever vigilant, as though they’re running from something that they can’t possibly escape. She keeps their guns fully loaded all the time now, and she’s getting used to the acrid burn of smoke at the back of her throat. She never sees the enemy they’re fighting, only black targets in the shape of eagles painted on pristine paper. She starts to learn how to defend herself against the world and, with every passing day, she feels less and less like the girl she thought she was.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

“My Daisy, I knew you could do it.” John pulls on the braid that she’s taken to scraping her hair into every morning. It’s the only way to be sure that the wind doesn’t blow rogue strands in her face and mess up her aim. “You’re my finest achievement, I ever tell you that?” He squints at the target, fifty yards away, a single hole blasted dead-center, eight shell casings lying at her feet. The effort of controlling the recoil leaves her arms aching, all her muscles screaming in protest, but she forgets all about it at the pride in his voice. He’s her protector, her knight in shining armor, and they’re going to be okay.

 

 

 

 

 

“I love you, John.” She wants him to understand that she’s doing all of this for him.

 

 

 

 

 

“I know, Daisy.” He’s already moving, a new target trailing from his hands, and she tries not to worry that he doesn’t say it back.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are bruises on John’s knuckles, scabs that never have a chance to fully heal before they spilt open all over again. She can sense his anger, wound tight around him like armor, and it scares her more than she cares to admit. She does what she can. She whispers that she loves him and holds his hand as they walk down unfamiliar streets, her thumb brushing soothingly over the cuts on his hands. She leaves notes on his pillow for him to find when he finally falls into bed -- painstakingly drawn pictures of daisies as a reminder that they have a language that only she knows. She curls up on the couch, same as always, her skinny arms pillowed underneath her head, and waits to hear the distinctive sound of his footsteps approaching the door. She pretends to sleep when he finally returns; increasingly afraid of the man who’s becoming more like a stranger to her than the father she loves. And then one night he doesn’t come home at all. She knows that it’s her fault for being afraid.

 

 

 

 

 

It feels as though his absence lasts forever, but John comes back eventually, like she thought that he would. She never truly doubted him, only knew that this must be another one of his lessons, one that she needed to be taught. She needs the challenges he puts in her way in order to be better. She spends the weeks without him managing the only way she knows how, taking what she needs from people who don’t even notice. She smiles as she pockets wallets and curtseys as she hooks a foot around bags left carelessly on the floor. Her hair, the only thing people ever really notice about her, hides the gleam of triumph in her eyes as she outwits another foolish man. John has taught her how to survive and she’s learned her lessons well.

 

 

 

 

 

She starts to dream of a life without John. A life where she’s free to do what she wants, to _be_ who she wants. She knows that dreams are dangerous things and you never really get what you wish for. It doesn’t stop her creating a whole new identity. Perhaps she’s the lost heir to a wondrous fortune, the daughter of loving parents who are searching the world for her. Maybe in another life she has a sister with hair that shines like the sun and a laugh that banishes her fears. She tries on different names like new clothes, just trying to find the perfect fit. Nothing seems quite right though. She doesn’t know how to be anyone but Daisy.

 

 

 

 

 

She sees the scars on John’s chest the first night he returns, and the puckered pink flesh that abutting bright silver metal is fascinating to her. The panel on his torso is so polished that she can see her face, just slightly out of focus, solemn eyes staring back at her. The effect is startling, and it reminds her of the stories John told her when she was little. He’d tell her of beautiful princesses, evil queens and heroes who would save the world. She starts to tell him what she’s thinking, but John’s face twists as he catches sight of his own reflection in the window. His fist moves almost faster than she can see, lightning before the storm, and crimson-flecked shards of glass rain down to scatter on the ground. For the first time, she thinks that she sees a monster.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

For her tenth birthday, John buys her a new dress - pale pink roses embroidered on a white background. She loves it, throws her arms around him in gratitude, surprised when he flinches away from her touch. He smiles reassuringly, tells her that it’s just the old injury -- that token of appreciation from some guy he used to work for. She tries not to take it personally, the way that he sometimes stares at her like she’s a changeling he found abandoned on the doorstep. The marks on her skin have long since faded away, but now it occurs to her that maybe it means that she’s no longer worth the effort. The thought scares her more than it should.

 

 

 

 

 

She manages to brush her fears aside at the news that John’s got a new boss, coming to celebrate with them, and they’re moving up in the world. John grins as he opens the door to their new apartment, the penthouse of a tower that rises like a blade from the building below. Light pours through the windows, and the sun glints, silver and gold, off distant skyscrapers. If she lies on the floor there’s nothing but blue as far as she can see, and the beauty of it steals her breath. For the first time in forever she feels as though this is where she truly belongs, far away from the chaos of the world below.

 

 

 

 

 

In that moment, her eyes drinking in the vast expanse of the world, she has a moment of complete clarity. She can become someone different, someone new. For years she’s been searching for the truth of who she really is and finally she feels as though she might be about to find it. It’s taken years, but there’s one truth that she knows in her soul -- she doesn’t want to be Daisy any more. Here, at the top of the world, she starts to build herself anew. She begins with a name. _Skye_.

 

 

 

 

 

“Do you like it, Daisy?” John’s voice brings her crashing back to earth. A surge of guilt floods through her as she sees that he seems happier than he’s been in months.

 

 

 

 

 

“I love it.” Skye guiltily pulls her new identity around her as though something so simple can protect her from everything yet to come. “This is really ours?” She doesn’t want to assume anything. They’ve never had anywhere to call home before.

 

 

 

 

 

“Sure is. This is home now, and you never have to leave.” He seems to have found a focus that’s been lacking, eyes clear and full of purpose. She’s almost to surprised to realize that she’s glad.

 

 

 

 

 

John’s new boss, Whitehall, scares her in a way she can’t quite voice. His eyes are dark, ancient, and she feels a thin tendril of fear unfurl slowly up her spine as he and John talk of mythical creatures that she’s only seen in the pages of her books. The two of them speak of lying in wait until the watchtowers burn, and building an army to rise from the ashes. She can tell that John’s excited, but she feels sure that something’s coming, huge and unstoppable, and it’ll rip them apart. Fear grows into apprehension and she starts to have nightmares of being eaten alive by a serpent with more heads than she can count. John laughs when she tells him why she wakes at night screaming. He says that there are worse things in the world than monsters. She can feel cool metal under her hand as she slides her arms around him, and she wonders what he dreams about when he sleeps.

 

 

 

 

 

“You don’t have to leave, do you?” She waits until Whitehall’s gone. Knows that John would hate anyone else to hear the tremor in her voice. Fear is a weakness. She’s stronger than this.

 

 

 

 

 

“You know I do, Daisy. I’m finding us a future. _Your_ future. All of this is because of you.” He smiles at her, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. She can’t help but think that his words sound a little like an accusation.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Skye’s twelve when John tells her that he has to leave her behind for a while. He’s got a lead on a situation with great potential somewhere in Massachusetts and she’s not allowed to come. It’s not the first time that he’s forbidden her from doing something, and the spark of resentment that flares, white hot, in her chest is becoming disconcertingly familiar. She’s beginning to feel as though she’s being kept caged, a rare treasure that can’t be risked in the world outside. He doesn’t let her shoot any more, tells her that she has no more need for guns, that she’s better equipped to protect herself than she thinks. Skye doesn’t believe him. There’s a growing sense of unease coiling around her every move, a conviction that this was never the life that she was supposed to be living. She stares out of the windows at grey clouds that never seem to lift and she wonders if she’ll ever know the truths John guards so jealously.

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m not leaving you alone, if that’s what you’re worried about. I thought it might be nice if you had someone closer to your own age to keep you company.” He smiles and she feels a sharp flash of guilt that she’d doubted him for a moment. He only has her best interests at heart. He’s only keeping her safe.

 

 

 

 

 

“But John, we don’t _know_ anyone my age.” Skye doesn’t really know anyone at all. There’s the doorman, James, who always brings her some sort of gift when he delivers John’s parcels, but she can’t remember the last time she was introduced to another soul. She’s so used to living in the clouds, her books and John’s lessons keeping her occupied, that it hadn’t really occurred to her to think about it before. Before she has time to voice a further objection there’s a soft knock on the door.

 

 

 

 

 

“Daisy, meet Raina.” John ushers in a petite girl, probably only a few years older than her, and absolutely exquisite. Skye feels suddenly awkward, childlike, totally lacking the poise of the girl standing in front of her. Raina’s hair falls in soft waves around her face, and she smiles as though she knows all the secrets of the universe. Skye’s hair is twisted up in a messy bun and she feels as though she knows less and less every day.

 

 

 

 

 

“Daisy.” Raina smiles, her voice gentle. “I’ve heard so much about you. You’re just as beautiful as John said you were. We’re going to become the closest of friends, I can tell.”

 

 

 

 

 

It doesn’t even occur to Skye to want anything else.

 

 

 

 

 

“One rule: no going outside.” John’s voice is firm, a reflection of the expression on his face.

 

 

 

 

 

“But why?” Skye’s beginning to think that she’s going to be locked up forever.

 

 

 

 

 

“Daisy, those are my orders. Are you planning to disobey?” The look in John’s eyes is calculating, dangerously free of understanding. It’s the one that warns her she’s pushed him as far as she should. She can almost feel the ache of bruises, long since faded away, that she once wore for days after mutinously demanding to know why for a second time. It’s a mistake she’ll never make again.

 

 

 

 

 

“No, John. Of course not.” Skye murmurs her assent, conscious of Raina sitting on the couch, features carefully schooled into an expression of polite disinterest. Skye’s not sure if she’s ever allowed to leave the house again, but she knows better than to ask for clarification when John’s in one of his moods.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Skye’s wary at first, but Raina actually looks after her, seems to enjoy spending time with her, and treats her like she’s an equal. Skye begins to wonder if Raina knows far more about who Skye really is than she’s letting on. It’s difficult to tell since she doesn’t fully understand more than half of what Raina says.

 

 

 

 

 

“The universe is infinite, how could we possibly hope to understand everything about it? There’s a vast potential out there, just waiting to be unleashed, and it could already be here, contained inside a single person. It could just be waiting for a key in order to unlock the future.” Raina’s enthusiasm is almost palpable in the room. Skye wonders if she’ll ever feel that much conviction about anything.

 

 

 

 

 

“But Raina, how could one body hold all that energy without just coming apart at the seams? It doesn’t make any sense.” She tries to understand, but she feels as though she’s missing some vital piece of the puzzle.

 

 

 

 

 

“One day, Daisy, you’ll understand.” Raina’s tone is warm and she smiles at Skye’s puzzled expression. Skye just nods slightly, not at all sure that she wants to understand any of this, but she’s eager to please, and terrified of loosing her only friend.

 

 

 

 

 

Skye’s not really sure how Raina does it, but new books start to appear, page after page of science and philosophy, journals containing words that she’s never even seen before. She begins to wonder if John knows about any of this, and if he’d approve at the turn Skye’s lessons have taken. Skye thinks that Raina’s probably a little mad, showing Skye inventions and formulas that she doesn’t think she’ll ever understand. There are books full of coding that, to Raina’s surprise, Skye somehow picks up with ease. She starts to wear her hair down again at Raina’s urging and starts to believe that _Skye_ could be more than just a different name.

 

 

 

 

 

Raina’s presence is surprisingly comforting -- she sings as she does the housework, and pretends to ignore the fact that Skye’s using the computer unsupervised -- so Skye’s prepared to forgive her any idiosyncrasy. She’s sure that Raina’s been told that she’s not supposed to be left to find things out on her own, every one of John’s lessons a carefully planned exercise, but she’s beginning to crave news from the outside world, to feed the hunger for knowledge that seems to have ignited within her. Skye’s desperate to escape the walls that she feels are closing in around her, but she knows that she can’t. A tiny seed of resentment that’s been waiting, biding its time, slowly starts to bloom.

 

 

 

 

 

The books vanish one Saturday in June, the computer suddenly cleared of all evidence of Skye’s presence. She knows, then, that she’s never going to be able to go back to being satisfied with this meager existence. She wants more. She wants to fly away and never look back. She doesn’t know how she ever thought that this was where she belonged. Raina smiles and puts a finger to her lips as they hear John’s heavy tread in the hallway. Skye nods once in understanding.

 

 

 

 

 

“How was your trip?” Skye somehow manages to force a smile to her face. She now realizes it’s a part that she’s been playing her whole life, and it’s easy to slip back into the familiar skin of the girl who never questioned anything.

 

 

 

 

 

“Pretty good thanks, angel. I’ve found an investment that I think has a lot of potential. Now I just need to wait and see how it grows.” John’s proud of himself, practically glowing with self-belief.

 

 

 

 

 

“Can I come with you the next time?” It’s an effort to hide the eagerness in her voice, and she knows that she hasn’t managed it well enough as soon as the words leave her mouth.

 

 

 

 

 

“Daisy, you know you can’t leave for now. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?” There’s an edge to his tone that’s becoming more and more familiar. It hints at danger hidden just beneath the surface, and she doesn’t want to be the one to let it out.

 

 

 

 

 

“No John.” Her eyes automatically drift to the ground, not wanting to provoke him further.

 

 

 

 

 

“Didn’t you and Raina have fun? You do _like_ her, don’t you?” His grin is feral, predatory, and Skye doesn’t miss the flash of fear in Raina’s eyes. So Skye smiles and nods, like the dutiful daughter that she is. John laughs before taking Raina by the hand, kissing her palm, and leading her from the room. Skye feels a chill creep across her skin and wonders what other secrets they’ve been keeping

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

After that, everything begins to change, an unstoppable slide into a life that Skye feared might be coming. John starts to become irritable, complaining of headaches that never seem to give him a moment of peace. Raina vanishes for days at a time, leaving Skye to manage a man who’s becoming more like a stranger with every passing day.

 

 

 

 

 

One morning, John doesn’t appear for their normal early morning training session and she finds him in the bathroom, huddled on the floor. The acid reek of bile hanging heavy in the air almost makes her gag. Vicious streaks of black and purple snake across his torso and the metal that used to gleam there is tarnished and dull. She reaches out a trembling hand and touches his skin with single finger, feeling the ridges of steel under his chest, so much stronger than fragile flesh and bone.

 

 

 

 

 

“This is your fault.” His voice is weak, but the force of hatred that she hears there is terrifying. “I never should have agreed to take you in.”

 

 

 

 

 

“What are you talking about?” Skye doesn’t even care that he’ll be able to hear the terror in her voice. She’s so afraid that he’s slipping away from her, that he’s being consumed by the madness she sometimes sees in his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

“You’re a monster.” He lunges for her with a strength that she didn’t know he possessed, one hand clamping around her neck as the other clenches into a fist. She struggles against him, does her best to drag a breath past the relentless squeeze of his fingers at her throat. The impact of his knuckles against her ribcage forces the last of the air from her lungs and she closes her eyes against the loathing she sees on his face. Pain blooms across her chest and stomach, searing white heat that threatens to break her apart, before the world finally disappears.

 

 

 

 

 

Raina’s voice comes to her from a distance, and she follows the thread of it back to her own skin. The agony that greets her return to consciousness makes her wish that she’d stayed cocooned in inky blackness forever. Skye forces one eye open, the other refusing to obey, and the room swims slowly into focus. Streaks of blood, crimson fading into crusted black, paint the floor. Every breath is torture, agony that blazes across her body, and all she knows is that John has finally shown her the honesty that she’s been looking for. He’s gone before she wakes, stays away for months, but it’ll never be long enough for her to forget.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Skye’s sitting, idly thumbing through a magazine and twisting a single strand of hair around her index finger, wondering if Raina might like a new dress, as the door virtually explodes inwards. There’s a stranger standing there, blood welling from a wound in his shoulder, holding John up with one arm. John’s face is pale, his body motionless, and she can’t even tell if he’s breathing. The shard of dread that pierces her heart at the thought renders her immobile. She can’t imagine a world without John in it. Whatever else he may be, he’s always been her shield against the storm.

 

 

 

 

 

“Where’s Raina?” Exhaustion laces the stranger’s words, and she realizes that the patch of blood on his shirt is expanding rapidly. She’s on her feet almost before she knows it, screaming Raina’s name as she moves towards them. Somehow Raina’s there before Skye can even make it halfway across the room, voice calm and words reassuring, and Skye sees John’s eyelids flutter at the sound. The relief that floods through her almost brings her to her knees. Raina takes charge, gets them to lie John down on the ground before plunging a syringe of yellow liquid into his arm. The three of them stand, waiting for what seems like forever, before John’s color returns and his eyes finally open.

 

 

 

 

 

“Good to see the gang’s all here.” He sounds so normal that Skye wants to cry. He turns his attention to the man standing motionless at her side. “Nice work, son. Knew you were the right man for the job. Now get Daisy here to patch you up before you bleed out all over my most expensive rug.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Yes, sir.” The relief that she hears is so much a reflection of her own that Skye doesn’t even pause to think, just grabs the hand nearest to her and pulls the stranger to the kitchen, leaving Raina to deal with John.

 

 

 

 

 

“What’s your name?” She pushes him onto a seat as she says it, turns her back to him to reach for one of the knives on the counter before he has a chance to respond.

 

 

 

 

 

“Ward.” He eyes the knife in her hand warily as she turns back towards him, seemingly unsure of her intentions.

 

 

 

 

 

“Wow, did your parents hate you or something? That’s a pretty weird name.” She grabs hold of the sleeve of his shirt as she talks, sliding the razor-sharp blade carefully through black cotton. He doesn’t even flinch as she peels the cloth away from where it’s stuck fast to the edges of the wound in his shoulder. She’s impressed, knows how much a wound like this must hurt.

 

 

 

 

 

“You’re one to talk, Daisy.” His eyes fasten on hers, and for a second she forgets what they’re even doing here. But she doesn’t miss the shadow that crosses his face. She sees the same darkness in the mirror sometimes when she thinks about the way she’s being kept locked away from the world -- eighteen years old and only two people in the universe who would even miss her.

 

 

 

 

 

“That’s not my name.” It slips out as she finally gets the last of the shirt free, ripping the collar so that she can assess the extent of the damage. His skin is warm under her touch, and she tries not to stare at the unfamiliar landscape of his body as she starts to clean the wound. “It’s barely bleeding now. Just a through-and-through. I think you’ll survive.” Skye tries to keep her tone light, pretends that she can’t see the silver edges of the scars that punctuate his chest, a language of violence that she can read all too well. She presses a square of gauze against his shoulder, binds it efficiently, the way she’s been doing it for years. She smiles slightly at the way he clenches his jaw as she pulls the bandage tight. No admissions of weakness here either. John must have trained him well.

 

 

 

 

 

“I’ve dealt with worse.” His voice is quiet, and Skye’s not entirely sure that he’s even talking to her any more. She’s surprised when he catches her hand as she turns away. “Hey, I’m sorry. My people skills are a little rusty.” His tone is sincere, his expression earnest. “Haven’t had much call for them recently.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh yeah? Locked away in an ivory tower like me, were you?” The words escape her before she has a chance to think.

 

 

 

 

 

“Something like that.” He offers her the ghost of a smile before releasing her hand and reaching for his ruined shirt. “Thanks, Daisy.” This time he actually grins at her, and she can feel the warmth of it in her bones.

 

 

 

 

 

“My name’s Skye.” She’s not sure why she needs him to know, why this stranger is the one person that she chooses to give her true identity to. Skye has no idea why her body reacts the way it does to his touch, as though she’s been waiting for him her whole life.

 

 

 

 

 

“It suits you.” With that, he’s gone, leaving her to wash his blood from her hands.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

John’s recovery isn’t as straightforward as Raina would like. Skye knows that none of them are sleeping much, John’s screams piercing the night with increasing regularity. It’s no surprise when Raina announces that she needs to take John into the city so that she can get him the help that he needs. Skye gathers her things, trying to suppress the excitement that builds in her chest at the thought of finally getting back to the world outside. She stands at the door, shifting impatiently, as she waits for Raina and John.

 

 

 

 

 

She realizes her mistake the second that she sees John’s face.

 

 

 

 

 

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice is harsh, colored with anger.

 

 

 

 

 

“I thought I was coming with you.” She can feel tears of disappointment building but she blinks them away, determined not to show weakness, fearful of the response it might elicit. She can see Raina standing in the shadows, her face a mask.

 

 

 

 

 

“You don’t leave. We’re not ready yet.” John’s hands start to curl into fists and Skye fights back a wave of panic. She inches herself carefully away from the door, swallowing down her disappointment.

 

 

 

 

 

She doesn’t breathe easy until the door closes on Raina’s murmured apology.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

With both Raina and John away, Skye finds herself with more freedom than she’s had in years. It doesn’t take her long to crack the password on John’s computer and she wonders if he even knows who she is any more. She learns a little more with every passing day, slowly sifting the facts from the mountain of lies that have been built to hide them. She amuses herself by spending an afternoon breaking into the safe, finding files emblazoned with an image that she remembers from the target practice of her childhood. Skye starts to forge a new life for herself, all the while trapped in the prison of the old. She still doesn’t know where she’s from, or why she’s here with John, but she knows enough. She knows that she needs to escape if she ever wants to find out who she really is.

 

 

 

 

 

“You know, I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be looking at those.” Ward’s voice startles her, the files in her lap spilling to the floor as she jumps to her feet. He’s propped against the door to the study, shoulder braced on the doorframe and his arms crossed, with a sardonic grin on his face. It’s just like the first time, her heart missing a beat at the intensity of the look in his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

“And I’m pretty sure that it’s none of your business what I do.” She wonders how he even got in without her hearing him, like some sort of stealth assassin. John’s trained her to be so much better than this. He’d be terrifyingly disappointed in her if he ever found out that she’d allowed someone to sneak up on her so easily.

 

 

 

 

 

“I hate to break it to you, Skye, but it’s completely my business. Garrett sent me to keep an eye on you.” He gestures with one hand at the pages lying haphazardly across the rug. “Can’t imagine why.” This time the smile on his face is genuine, and Skye does her best to ignore the warmth that pools in her limbs as a result. “What are you looking for anyway?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Answers.” Skye can almost taste the bitterness on her tongue as she realizes that she may have missed the only opportunity to find out who she really is. “And it’s going to take more than you to stop me.” She throws it into the air between them like a challenge.

 

 

 

 

 

“Maybe.” Ward moves quickly, and she’s out of practice. He’s across the room in a heartbeat, one hand spinning her around, pinning her arm behind her back, the other landing gently at her throat. It’s almost a caress, just the bare whisper of his hand on her skin, and a stark contrast to the way that he has her pulled up against him, heat blazing between them at every point of contact, electricity that he must be able to feel. “Maybe not.” He murmurs it into her ear, his breath tickling her skin, holding her for just a little too long before he releases her.

 

 

 

 

 

“Don’t do that again.” Skye spins to face him, her heart racing, but she’s not sure if it’s the surprise or Ward’s proximity that’s making it happen. The thought is disconcerting, and all she knows is that she should keep him at a distance.

 

 

 

 

 

“Get better at stopping me.” He shrugs at her before stooping to gather up the files that litter the floor, sliding pages into their rightful places with barely a pause. Skye can’t help but think that perhaps he’s seen them before. She’s slightly surprised when he hands them back to her, but he doesn’t let go as she starts to pull the folders from his hand. “There’s no going back, Skye. Not once you know the truth about who you really are.” His expression is guarded, and she’s sure that they’re not talking about her any more.

 

 

 

 

 

“And who are you? Really?” She’s close enough to hear the slight huff of laughter that her question provokes.

 

 

 

 

 

“Grant.” One of his cheeks dimples as he smiles, and Skye can feel an answering grin spread across her own features. She fights it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she’s amused, but it’s a battle she’s rapidly losing.

 

 

 

 

 

“Grant Ward, huh?” Skye raises an eyebrow at him as he nods his confirmation. “It suits you.” It’s an echo of the day they met and, as she turns her back on him and walks from the room, she knows from the way he laughs that he remembers it just as well as she does.

 

 

 

 

 

Skye realizes, after two days of telling him that she doesn’t need him around, that she’s just going to have to somehow adapt to Ward’s presence in her life. He’s not exactly a bother, having picked up the art of blending into his surroundings somewhere along the line. She wonders if John taught him how to do that, or if it was something Ward always knew how to do, a skill that made John choose him over somebody else. She’s beginning to think that John doesn’t leave anything to chance.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes she almost forgets that Ward’s even there, but there’s an irresistible urge that she feels in every cell of her body that makes her seek him out. The problem isn’t that she can’t ever quite shake the feeling that he’s watching her, dark eyes taking in everything that she does. It isn’t even the fact that she can’t concentrate on her hunt for the truth in the knowledge that he might walk in on her at any moment. The problem is that she’s starting to enjoy the rush she feels every time she sees him.

 

 

 

 

 

Skye starts to gravitate towards him, as though Ward’s exerting a magnetic pull that she has no way of fighting. She makes excuses for herself -- that she just wants to know if he’s heard from John or Raina after weeks of silence, only wants to find out how much longer he’ll be training for, or if he wants dinner -- but she’s not an idiot. She knows that she’s on dangerous ground, that John would probably kill one of them if he knew what Skye was thinking. She doesn’t care.

 

 

 

 

 

Skye lies in her bed at night, one hand slowly sliding down the soft curves of her body, the other teasing a nipple, and she conjures up Ward’s face. She pretends that it’s his fingers scraping across her skin, his mouth on her clit, and she comes with his name on her lips, the ghost of his voice in her head. Skye’s not an idiot. She’s sure that most of her feelings are nothing more than her hormones raging out of control. She’s never even kissed a boy before, but she knows the mechanics of what goes where, and the consequences of being careless. Raina made sure of that. Skye’s sure that this is different though, that she and Ward were always meant to be, and that John was nothing more than the catalyst needed to bring them together.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s some consolation to her that Ward turns out to be nothing like she’d imagined. Instead of endless hours spent hovering over her, making sure that she’s not doing anything she shouldn’t, he basically leaves her to her own devices. She catches him reading her favorite childhood books, their spines worn with use, and he just shrugs at her expression of disbelief. He turns out to be an excellent cook, an accidental discovery resulting from one very badly misjudged casserole, and Skye gladly relinquishes the task of making dinner for them both to him. She oversleeps one day, finally surfacing sometime around eleven, to find a tray outside her door holding a mug of coffee and a croissant still warm from the oven. There’s a single daisy beside the plate and Skye can’t quite work out what it means.

 

 

 

 

 

She slides the flower into her hair, loose across her shoulders for the first time in months, and pretends not to notice the smile, quickly smothered, that creeps across Ward’s face as he catches sight of it when she walks into the library, coffee in hand. The sensation of _want_ , that used to take her by surprise every time she’d see him, settles softly under her skin, a familiar warmth, as comforting to her as his presence.

 

 

 

 

 

“Had enough beauty sleep, princess?” His tone is teasing, but she’s starting to get used to the way that he never tells her what he’s really thinking. He hides his emotions behind a near-perfect mask, but Skye thinks that she’s beginning to catch glimpses of the man that he’s trying so hard not to let her see.

 

 

 

 

 

“You tell me. Grant.” It’s a bold move, but she can tell from the way that his jaw clenches as he moves away that she’s hit her mark. She always was a brilliant shot.

 

 

 

 

 

“Skye, don’t.” It sounds more like a plea than a command, and she loves the way her name sounds on his tongue, as though it belongs there.

 

 

 

 

 

“I want you to train me.” She changes tack smoothly, and it’s not technically a lie. She does want him to show her how to disarm someone in one smooth motion, but more than that, she craves the feel of his skin on hers, and she’ll do anything to make it happen.

 

 

 

 

 

“You do, huh?” The look on his face is skeptical and, sure, she hasn’t really shown much of an inclination to do anything other than scour the internet for clues about who she might really be, but it’s not like she hasn’t trained before. After all, she’s the one that’s been with John since she was a baby. Ward’s the newcomer here. But she’s watched him, the efficiency with which he moves, the precise way he plants his hands on the punching bag, and she thinks he might just teach her something new.

 

 

 

 

 

“If you think you can handle me.” She takes a step towards him as she says it, a challenge written in every move she makes. This time he stands his ground, and it’s not until she’s almost pressed up against him that she notes with satisfaction the way that his hazel eyes darken almost to black, the pulse at his jaw hammering faster than normal.

 

 

 

 

 

“Skye, we can’t. What if John finds out?” His voice is rough, deeper than normal, and ripe with a promise that she doesn’t fully understand. Her body seems to recognize the energy sparking between them though, warmth settling in her bones and liquid fire igniting in her veins.

 

 

 

 

 

“I don’t care if he does.” Skye’s not really surprised at her own boldness. She can almost feel herself changing with every passing day. She’s flexing muscles that she didn’t even know she possessed, straining against the restrictions of a life she now knows was never meant to be hers. Afterwards, she’s never really sure which of them made the first move, but it doesn’t matter by then -- they’re already in way too deep.

 

 

 

 

 

Skye’s imagined their first kiss before. She thought it would be gentle, a soft meeting of lips and his hands at her waist, like something out of a fairytale, a picture-perfect movie that plays over and over in her mind. The reality is almost indescribable. Skye finds herself poised on the tips of her toes, body pushed up against him, her hands tightly gripping the front of his shirt. Ward curves himself around her, his fingers sliding across her cheeks, tilting her head up towards him. He pauses for a bare second, breathing her air. They’re standing so close that she can see the light dusting of freckles on his cheeks before he finally closes the distance between them.

 

 

 

 

 

His lips are firm, demanding, and the heat of his mouth starts a slow burn that she feels over every inch of her body. She wants to get closer to him, _needs_ to be closer, and her tongue slides across his as she scratches her nails down the stubble on his cheek. She swallows down the groan he lets out as he spins them around, slamming her back against the bookcases. It knocks the remaining air from her lungs and she gasps in a desperate breath as she finally tears her mouth from his. Ward’s chest is heaving, every shallow inhale as shaky as the last, and his eyes never leave hers.

 

 

 

 

 

Skye feels as though she’s finally beginning to understand her infinite potential, her blood singing under Ward’s touch, and a constellation of stardust flying through her veins.

 

 

 

 

 

“Skye…” He whispers it against her skin and galaxies ignite.

 

 

 

 

 

“Skye, where are you?” Reality crashes down around her as she hears John’s voice. Ward drops his hands as though her skin is scalding him, taking a step away from her, and it takes every ounce of self-control that she possesses not to follow. His eyes slide closed and she counts three endless heartbeats before he opens them again. Ward’s smile is gentle, heavy with regret, the touch of his hand on her face so light that she thinks she must have imagined it. By the time Johan and Raina walk in, he’s on the other side of the room, sprawled in an armchair, as though he hasn’t a care in the world. She’s half-convinced that they’ll be able to see his fingerprints on her skin, burned there for eternity.

 

 

 

 

 

John looks better, healthy in a way that he hasn’t looked in months and, in that moment, Skye thinks that she could forgive him anything. He pulls her into an embrace, the familiar scent of him almost overwhelming her senses, but she can feel the inexorable pull of a different life, an unbreakable thread that leads to where Ward sits, silent, his gaze fixed on hers.

 

 

 

 

 

“You look different.” John pushes her out to arms length, his brows creasing in a slight frown. “Ward, you take care of my girl whilst I was gone?” John turns his head slightly, his voice carrying to the other side of the room, but he never looks away from Skye’s face.

 

 

 

 

 

“Yes, sir. To the best of my abilities.” Ward’s words are short, terse, his voice somehow unfamiliar. He sounds as though he’s reporting on a mission. Skye feels an unfamiliar emotion twisting in her chest -- bright white rage shot through with black fear -- at the realization that she’s never seen him like this before. He’s just another weapon in John’s arsenal, and she wonders how she never noticed that she was looking in a mirror.

 

 

 

 

 

“Of course you did, son. _You_ wouldn’t disappoint me, would you?” John’s grinning as he steps away from her, and Skye wonders if his question was meant to sting as much as it does. She tries her best not to feel as though maybe she’s the one who’s a disappointment.

 

 

 

 

 

“No sir. Never.” Ward stands up and grasps John’s outstretched hand with his own. Raina’s touch on her arm is the only thing that stops Skye from bolting out of the room.

 

 

 

 

 

“Why don’t you ladies go and sort out dinner; the men have business to discuss.” John slings his arm across Ward’s shoulders, and Skye wants to scream at the injustice that rips Ward away from her before they’ve even really begun.

 

 

 

 

 

Ward finally corners her in the corridor, after a meal that Skye could barely manage to force past the lump in her throat. He and John sat trading war stories, John laughing at the notion either of them might be anything other than invincible. Ward didn’t even glance her way, and she can hardly breathe past the fear that the last couple of months have been nothing but a means for him to entertain himself. She feels stupid. Naïve. A girl who knows literally nothing of the world outside. And she thought he actually cared.

 

 

 

 

 

“Skye.” She hates that he still looks at her as though he can taste her on his tongue. He doesn’t deserve to know that much about her, and his mouth shouldn’t wrap around her name like an embrace.

 

 

 

 

 

“Shut up.” Skye can’t stand the way that her body craves his touch. Like he’s an addiction she’s never going to shake. “You’re a nothing more than a robot, all “yes sir, no sir”. You’re a goddamn toy soldier that John winds up and sets loose to do his bidding. Was all this a fucking test?” She hisses the last accusation at him, all her pent up fury and disappointment bringing hot tears to her eyes. “I’m _nothing_ to you.”

 

 

 

 

 

“I do what I need to survive. You, of all people, should understand that.” He shrugs imperceptibly, his voice breaking slightly at the end, and he looks as though he’s about to say something more. Skye doesn’t wait around to hear it.

 

 

 

 

 

Ward’s gone in the morning.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Skye hadn’t realized how much she’d come to rely on Ward to keep life interesting. She feels as though John’s monitoring her every move and she longs for the freedom she had when it was just her and Ward. She misses Ward himself more than she ever thought possible. She spends days wandering the apartment, half expecting him to appear in a doorway with that irritating smirk of his that she’s _sure_ is just for show. She hates him. She’s clear on that. He made her believe that he cared about her and it was nothing but lies. If he cared he wouldn’t have left. Wouldn’t have made it clear that she was nothing more than one of John’s missions.

 

 

 

 

 

She finds herself standing in the library, four days since Ward left, and her heart still skips a beat at the memory of his body pressed against hers. She knows that she needs a distraction. John’s eyeing her with suspicion, as though he’s suddenly found a wolf in the hen house, and she needs to remember the person he expects her to be. She needs to remember how it feels to be his Daisy.

 

 

 

 

 

Skye reaches for her battered copy of Alice in Wonderland. It’s always been one of her favorites, and she wonders if maybe part of her always knew that she didn’t belong to this world. She drifts her fingers across the leather cover of the book, cool under her hand, and memories assault her. Her seventh birthday, some run-down motel in downtown Los Angeles, John producing a top hat from nowhere, and pretending to be the Mad Hatter. One stormy night trapped in a cabin in the middle of the bitterest winter she’d ever lived through, her thin frame almost vibrating with fear, John presenting dinner with a flourish, black tea and dry toast with notes saying ‘Eat Me’ and ‘Drink Me’. John’s voice, shaking with laughter, whispering “Off with his head” as she sighted a target down the sights of a rifle almost too heavy to hold.

 

 

 

 

 

She almost puts the book back on the shelf, not feeling strong enough to deal with the emotion that it invokes, but something about its weight seems off. She slides a finger under the cover, flips it open, and for a moment she forgets to breathe. There’s a meticulous rectangle sliced from almost every page and there, nestled in the shadows of her past, is the key to her future -- a cellphone containing a single number and a message.

 

 

 

 

 

_Keep looking_

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Skye feels as though she’s been thrown a lifeline, something that might help her keep her head above water for the time it will take to plot an escape. She can almost feel freedom at the tips of her fingers, tantalizingly out of reach. She tries not to think about Ward, about the fact that she could press two buttons and hear his voice again, wrapped around her like armor against the world. Sometimes she slips.

 

 

 

 

 

“Have you heard from Grant?” It comes out one day over breakfast; the cumulative effects of a day spent surreptitiously searching the darknet and a night spent dreaming of Grant’s hands on her body, his mouth on her skin, sighing her name. John’s eyes narrow as he takes in the dark circles under her eyes, the way her hand shakes slightly as she lifts her coffee mug to her mouth.

 

 

 

 

 

“Grant?” She can hear the unspoken question in his voice, a demand to know when exactly Ward became Grant in her mind. She knows better than to backtrack now. John can sense blood in the water, a soft and exposed underbelly, as surely as any predator.

 

 

 

 

 

“He hates it when I call him that. It amused me. Turns out it’s a hard habit to break.” Two truths and a lie. Skye wonders if John even realizes that he’s taught her everything she knows about deception.

 

 

 

 

 

“John? We should go.” Raina’s voice saves Skye the necessity of further explanation and, not for the first time, she wonders how much Raina knows. “We’re hoping to reach the second stage today.” Raina drifts her hand up John’s arm, a soothing gesture that never fails to calm him. Skye remembers when she was the one who could settle John with a touch. Those days are a distant memory, nothing but suspicion and silent accusations hovering in the air between them now.

 

 

 

 

 

“Hear that, Daisy? We’re nearly ready.” John sounds excited, his earlier irritation with her forgotten. But the unasked question lingers long after he and Raina are gone.

 

 

 

 

 

Ready for what?

 

 

 

 

Skye’s slowly uncovering the truth about who she is, Grant’s gift to her finally enabling her to continue her search unhindered. The facts that she has so far are meager, a birthdate that bears no resemblance to the day that she’s celebrated her entire life, a blurred photo of broken bodies strewn across shattered ground and the name of a tiny town in China. She knows that if she wants to discover more she’s going to have to escape. She just has no idea how.

 

 

 

 

 

Skye finally succumbs to temptation, dials the number that waits for her on screen of her phone. She holds her breath as it rings, before a woman’s voice informs her that she should leave a message. She doesn’t know where she would even begin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Skye’s standing in the kitchen, contemplating her next move, when she hears the door open.

 

 

 

 

“What did you forget?” She turns, expecting to see Raina standing there with her secretive smile on her face, but it’s _him_. Grant. As though she’s conjured him there with her thoughts alone. She feels her breath catch in her chest, a slight tremor of anticipation vibrating through her. She steels herself, raises her eyes to his.

 

 

 

 

“Nothing.” His voice is exactly as she remembered, liquid molasses sliding across her skin, the half-smile on his face making her heart miss a beat. He looks at her intently, as though willing her to understand, and she thinks, as she takes two hesitant steps towards him, that maybe she finally does.

 

 

 

 

 

“You left.” She finally breaks the silence that stretches between them. She hates that she can hear the hurt in her own voice, the unspoken plea for an explanation hovering in the air between them. The harsh burn of threatening tears stings the back of her throat. She swallows them down. It’s a weakness.

 

 

 

 

 

“I missed you.” He shrugs almost imperceptibly, his mouth twisting in a mockery of a smile, helplessness written across every line of his face. “You’re hard to forget.”

 

 

 

 

 

“But not hard to leave.” Skye’s been abandoned to varying degrees for her entire life. She’s not sure why his absence is the one that’s wounded her the most.

 

 

 

 

“Do you really believe that, Skye?” He shakes his head, taking a slow step towards her. She stubbornly stands her ground, doing her best to ignore the way her heart lifts at the sound of his voice saying her name. “That it was easy for me to leave you here? With him?” His voice hardens as he says it, a hint of disgust coloring his tone.

 

 

 

 

 

“He’s my father.” Skye’s terrified that all this is an elaborate test. Some way of John assessing her loyalty and finding out how many of his lies she’s uncovered. She can’t fail now.

 

 

 

 

 

“No, Skye, he’s not. I don’t know who he is any more, but he’s never been that.” Grant finally closes the distance between them, his fingers sliding gently across the skin of her arm, trailing goose bumps in its wake. “I’m sorry.” The honesty in his voice is like nothing she’s ever heard before, and Skye doesn’t know if he’s apologizing for leaving her or for finally saying out loud the thing that she’s known for years now. But then his hands pull her closer, arms wrapping around her like they do in her dreams, and she realizes that she doesn’t care. She presses her cheek to his chest and she can feel his heartbeat, steady against her skin, keeping time with her own.

 

 

 

 

 

Skye finally pushes herself away from Grant, taking a deep breath before looking up at his face. She’s not sure what she expects to find there, but it’s not the barely contained mix of desperation and longing that she actually sees. She’s on her toes before her brain fully registers what’s going on, barely managing to hold back a moan of satisfaction as her mouth meets his. Grant’s arms around her body feel like they’re the only thing tethering her to the ground and she’s in free-fall. One of his hands cups the back of her head, his fingers brushing past her ear, before twisting through her hair and somehow pulling her closer. All she can hear is the hammering of her own heartbeat in her ears and the dizzying rush of her own desire.

 

 

 

 

 

The skin of his jaw is rough under her fingers, a bare scratch of stubble as she runs a thumb across his cheek. His hand slides across her waist, the calluses on his palm catching on the soft cotton of her shirt, and she feels his skin on hers, setting every nerve alight. Grant’s mouth is warm, burnt sugar and spice, and something else that she can taste in the air between them. Hope.

 

 

 

 

 

“This isn’t why I came.” His mouth is so close to hers that she can feel the whisper of air his words leave brushing across her own lips, still burning from his touch. Her hands instantly drop away from his skin, suddenly terrified that she’s misread the moment. That he didn’t come back for this. For her. “No, Skye, that’s not what I meant.” His fingers encircle her wrist, but it’s gentle, calming. She knows that she won’t find marks there come the morning, no matter how much she might want the proof that this wasn’t all a dream. “I came to bring you this.” Grant reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a tiny rectangle of plastic that Skye only recognizes because she’s seen John removing an identical item from his computer. “It’s everything I could find. I’m sorry it’s not more.”

 

 

 

 

“What are you talking about?” Skye’s still wary, her memory conjuring up an image of John’s face as he left. The distrust that she feels stalking her every step these days.

 

 

 

 

“You’re trying to find out the truth. So am I.” He shrugs, as though it’s the most simple thing in the world. “I think it’s in these files.”

 

 

 

 

 

“How did you find them?” Skye’s mouth is dry as he places the drive in her hand, the clues to the truth she’s been looking for, the person she really is, suddenly within her reach.

 

 

 

 

 

“I started looking for fairytales.” His smile lights up the room, brilliant in the half-darkness, and in that moment Skye knows, without the shadow of a doubt, that she’s not alone any more. He pulls her back to him, hands firm on her skin, and her arms hook around his neck, eliminating the space between them as he groans her name.

 

 

 

 

 

She doesn’t know how long they stand there, hands mapping skin as though they know they need to learn each other by heart. She can feel the raised edges of scars on his back, the way that his breath catches as she traces them where they vanish under the waistband of his jeans. His mouth trails fire across her neck, her collarbone, the pads of her fingers, and all she wants to do is burn. He finally pulls away from her, both gasping into the empty space that forms between them, his hands still on her hips.

 

 

 

 

“Grant, what are…” she’s silenced by Grant pressing a hand firmly across her mouth, a gentle whisper of breath in her ear indicating the need for silence. She hears it then, the distant rattle of the elevator as it begins its slow journey upwards.

 

 

 

 

 

"I'll get you out of here, Skye. I promise.” Grant sounds utterly certain of the fact, and Skye wraps the truth of his words around her as though they could replace the safe-haven of his body. He slides open the door to the balcony and she watches him vanish like a ghost into the darkness, mere moments before John opens the front door, Raina trailing like a shadow in his wake.

 

 

 

 

 

“Daisy, Daisy, what have you been up to?” John’s face wears a smile, but it’s anything but happy. He eyes her suspiciously, and it takes everything she has not to brush away the phantom marks of Grant’s mouth on her skin that she’s almost convinced John can see. Skye holds Grant’s promises like a shield before her as she drags up what she hopes is a convincing expression of innocence. She walks over to John, planting a light kiss on his cheek and hugging him as though she’s done nothing but miss him since he left. She can tell from the way his shoulders relax under her touch that she’s managed to allay his fears for now. Skye catches sight of Raina’s face out of the corner of her eye as she pulls away from John’s embrace. By the time Skye turns her head to look properly, all she sees is a dreamy look of contentment, and Skye thinks she must have imagined the shadows of regret she saw there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Skye restricts herself to continuing her search to the times when John’s out of the house. She doesn’t worry so much about Raina, feeling as though she has a silent ally in the other woman. Even so, she doesn’t make the mistake of letting Raina see her doing anything John would disapprove of. She knows that she doesn’t want to end up in a position where Raina has to choose one of them over the other, certain that it’d be a battle she’d end up loosing.

 

 

 

 

 

She hears from Grant irregularly, but the knowledge that he’s out there, searching for the truth with as much determination as she is, lends her a strength she didn’t know she had. She learns how to cover her tracks, experience making her bold as she discovers a talent for hacking that she never suspected she possessed. Every firewall she takes down, every line of code she writes, leaves a signature written indelibly on the world. She knows that Grant will find a way to follow her. No matter what.

 

 

 

 

 

The doorman, James, shows up one day with a package for John that has him grabbing Raina roughly by the arm, muttering something about a survivor. They’re out of the apartment in seconds, barely bothering to say goodbye. Skye doesn’t notice James still standing in the doorway, having long ago accepted that a kind word is all she’s ever likely to receive with the morning post. Today, though, James clears his throat and holds out a small box with a shrug. Skye’s hand trembles slightly as she reaches for it, as though her body already knows that this is the beginning of the end.

 

 

 

 

 

“He said to leave the windows open.” James offers her a small smile, as though he understands the way that his message chases away her demons, before quietly closing the door of the apartment behind him.

 

 

 

 

 

Skye can barely wait the length of time it takes her to get to the solitude of her room before ripping the lid off the box. She doesn’t want to risk John coming back in and finding her here with anything that could lead to Grant. She doesn’t even know what the box contains, but she’s certain that it would spell the end of her freedom. In the end she barely manages to kick the door closed behind her before she risks opening her gift. She tells herself she isn’t disappointed when all she finds is another thumb drive. She knows how much he’s risking for her, but she can’t help wanting more. Wanting him.

 

 

 

 

She consoles herself with the thought that he told her to leave the windows open, but weeks pass and there’s still no sign of him. Skye starts to believe that she’s only ever going to find Grant in her dreams, increasingly vivid, and slowly becoming more real to her than the life that she’s trapped in day after day, her every move monitored by watchful eyes that she fears.

 

 

 

 

 

Grant’s hands are warm as they drift down her body, but they’re nothing compared to the heat of his mouth as he sucks a gentle path across her skin. She arches up into him as his teeth tease her nipple, as his fingers skip down her belly and he tattoos their shared future onto her skin. His fingers curve up inside her and she falls apart, gasping his name, only to wake with nothing but the distant memory of his voice on her skin. It’s never enough and she drifts through days with nothing but a hollow ache in her bones.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

“We’re nearly there, Daisy.” John’s voice oozes satisfaction, and it’s all Skye can manage not to run screaming from the room. She doesn’t know any more how she managed to live all those years thinking that he loved her. His every move now is calculated to keep her off balance, to remind her that she owes him everything. She starts to find mementos of the past amongst her things -- pictures of daisies that once seemed so important; a target with only one hole at the center; a small square of white fabric with pink petals embroidered in a corner. Skye knows with certainty that she’s running out of time.

 

 

 

 

 

The only thing that keeps her going is the expectation of Grant’s return. He said he’d come back for her and he will. She believes it like she’s believed nothing else before. Every now and again she’s certain that she’s getting messages from him. Her search leads her deeper into a life that she doesn’t know if she’s ever going to fully understand, but there are signposts leading the way, the names of constellations overwritten across the titles of redacted files and she follows the breadcrumbs he leaves. She can almost feel him next to her, the touch of his hands on her shoulders, and she doesn’t question the fact that she trusts him to lead her to the truth.

 

 

 

 

 

When Grant finally returns, she thinks that she’s dreaming. She comes to life under the touch of his hands and it’s as though she’s been sleepwalking for the months between. But he’s undeniably real as he twines a strand of her hair through his fingers, the bare hint of a smile on his lips as he whispers her real name. It’s been so long since she’s heard it on his lips that she spends a precarious moment balanced between the future and the past. In the half-light she can see bruises, a cut on his cheek and a split in his eyebrow, and he finally brings her all the missing pieces. The rest of her story.

 

 

 

 

 

It emerges in quiet whispers in the house where she finally realized that she was never the girl she’d been taught to believe she was. Grant’s voice is laced with sorrow as he tells her a story that defies belief. About a woman who should have lived forever, a girl christened for the flowers that bloomed in the meadows of her childhood home, and a father still searching for answers. Skye learns about her own history, one that will never let her rest, but he tells her his truth too.

 

 

 

 

 

Grant tells her about a boy who couldn’t save himself no matter what he did, and of the man who offered him the chance to become a hero. It’s too late now to regret the choices they’ve made, but Skye knows that if anyone deserves a second chance it’s the man baring his soul in a room he’s scaled a mountain and risked the anger of dragons to enter. She shows him the truth in the only way she knows they’ll both believe. She doesn’t utter words that could dance deception into their hearts, only gives him honesty, skin on skin, as she pulls him closer.

 

 

 

 

 

Grant resists for a moment, his eyes questioning as they search her face. She’s not sure if he’s looking for a refusal that he’s never going to find, or if he’s hoping that she’ll give them both a way out of a situation that’s spinning out of control. Skye doesn’t know what he sees, but the groan that leaves him just before his mouth finally touches hers is enough for her to know that he’s ruined just as surely as she.

 

 

 

 

 

He’s gentle with her, the lightest touch of his fingers on her arms, and she realizes that she might not be the only one doing this for the first time. She tries her best to stifle a laugh against his cheek, but she should have known that someone as finely tuned to his surroundings wouldn’t be fooled for a second. He’s off her in an instant, the distance between them suddenly vast as oceans, the regret on his face unmistakable.

 

 

 

 

“Skye, I’m sorry, I got carried away. I never meant for this to happen. You don’t need to do this.” His tongue falls over itself in his haste to get the words out.

 

 

 

 

“Hey,” Skye’s voice is soft as she tries to communicate to him that this is everything she’s been wanting for months, “it’s okay. Grant, look at me. I want this.”

 

 

 

 

The look on his face is almost unbearable. Disbelief and hope and _want_ warring with each other, a mirror held up to her own feelings, before Skye finally closes her eyes and pulls him back to her, where he belongs. His hands shake slightly as they settle against her sides, her own sure as she weaves them through the fine hair at the back of his neck. She presses her lips against his, her mouth eager to taste him again, just the barest hint of tongue as she breathes into him. That’s all it takes for his fingers to grip her tighter, erase the distance between them, and the relief she feels in his hands is almost overwhelming.

 

 

 

 

Grant licks up into her mouth, his tongue sliding against hers, and it’s all she can do to remember to breathe. Her body is alight, a fever dream she never wants to wake up from, and he’s the one drifting white-hot flames across her skin. His hands are gentle as he slides her top up over the skin of her stomach, her breath catching as he pauses with his palms just under the swell of her breasts. She reaches down, pulls his arms just a little higher, unable to suppress the gasp that escapes her as his thumbs scrape across her nipples. Skye runs her fingers through his hair, pulls his face closer, relishing the taste of him as she deepens their kiss. She’s almost embarrassed by the huff of dissatisfaction she makes as he pulls away from her, but Grant lets out low hum of contentment that she feels in her bones, and it reassures her that he wants this as badly as she does.

 

 

 

 

 

“It’s a little difficult to take off your top if I’m still kissing you.” Grant’s voice is lower than she’s ever heard it, rough, and rich with desire.

 

 

 

 

 

“Fair point.” Skye tries hard to stop the slight nervousness she’s suddenly feeling from leaking into her voice, but she can tell from the crease that suddenly appears between Grant’s brows that she hasn’t fooled him for a second. She focuses on the pulse point at his throat, the way that it races in time with her own, as though they’re already part of each other. “You go first.” She takes a deep breath and raises her eyes to his. She’s not sure what she expected to see, but the gentle smile that transforms his features chases away the last of her nerves. He sits back, his weight firm on her hips, and pulls his t-shirt off in one smooth motion.

 

 

 

 

 

She runs her hands up his skin, fascinated by the way his breath catches as she fits her fingers into the hollows of his spine, running her nails lightly across his chest. She can feel the evidence of his arousal even through the heavy denim of his jeans, and she feels her body responding, her cunt growing wetter at the thought of him inside her. Grant leans forwards, slides her top up over the swell of her breasts and licks a path across her skin, around a nipple that tightens under his touch. He sucks her breast gently into his mouth, then increases the pressure until Skye’s gasping underneath him, digging her nails into the skin of his shoulders as she starts to lose herself to the pleasure shooting through every inch of her being.

 

 

 

 

Grant pulls away from her, a satisfied smile on his face, and it’s all Skye can do not to laugh at how proud he looks. She lifts her arms instead, raises an eyebrow at him, and he leans down to plant a soft kiss on her lips before pulling her top up over her head and throwing it aside. He drifts his hands back down along her arms before lowering his chest down until he’s pressed up against her. Skye folds her arms around him, lifts her face to his and she loses herself in the sensation of skin against skin.

 

 

 

 

 

Skye slides her hands down Grant’s back until they hit the waistband of his jeans. He groans into her mouth as she slides her fingers underneath, drifts them across the swell of his ass through the soft cotton of his underwear. She smiles, triumphant that she’s the one pulling these noises from him, before sliding her hands around to the button of his fly. Dimly, in the back of her mind, Skye knows that this is the point of no return, that there’s no coming back from what she’s about to do. But her fingers deftly pop each button open, and her hand is steady as she slides it under the gap she creates and finally feels the hard length of his cock. The noise her action rips from Grant is like nothing she’s ever heard before, and he drops his head to her shoulder, his hands fisting in the sheets at her lightest touch. She feels as though she’s the most powerful being alive, Grant falling apart around her, and she wonders how she ever lived without this. Without him.

 

 

 

 

 

“Skye,” he hisses her name through clenched teeth as she adjusts her grip, slides her palm firmly up the full length of his cock. She can feel the heat of him through the thin layer of fabric that still separates his skin from her hand, and she decides that she wants the barriers between them gone. She pulls her hand away, gratified by the moan that Grant makes at the loss of contact, and instead starts to push his jeans and boxers down from his hips. It takes him a moment to get the message, his face still buried in the crook of her neck, and she huffs out his name in an exasperated breath as she realizes that she can’t get the purchase she needs to strip him of the rest of his clothes.

 

 

 

 

 

Grant finally lifts his head after what seems like forever, and the smile he gives her makes her feel as though she’s glowing with starlight. Skye stares as he plants a line of kisses down her sternum, his eyes never leaving hers, the sensation of his teeth nipping at the skin of her belly making her cunt clench in anticipation. He pauses when he reaches the fabric of her pajama pants, raises an eyebrow at her in a silent question.

 

 

 

 

“You first.” Skye says it for the second time, then grins up at him as he nods at her in understanding. Grant pushes himself off the bed to stand at her feet. Skye drinks him in, the firm ridges of muscle that form the planes of his body, the thin line of hair that pulls her eyes to the open fly of his jeans, the rapid-fire pattern of his breathing. She sees the deep breath he takes, the way he swallows hard as he hooks his thumbs over the denim and cotton at his hips and pushes his clothes down. His dick springs up firm against his abdomen as he stands naked before her, and Skye’s breath catches in her throat at the sight. Grant’s hand seems to move almost of its own volition as he stares down at her, eyes dark with desire, and he drags his hand up his dick, a slight twist as he flicks his thumb across the tip, and she’s moving almost before she knows it.

 

 

 

 

 

She kneels on the foot of the bed, one hand braced on Grant’s chest to steady herself, the other pulling his mouth to hers. The kiss is messy, rough with barely contained desire, and pressure starts to build low in her stomach, unfurling along her limbs every time Grant touches her. She trails her hand lower, feeling the muscles of his stomach clench as she drifts her nails across his skin, her fingers finding the fine trail of curls and following them down. The skin of his cock is softer than anything she’d imagined and she mimics his action, her hand firm as she slides it from base to tip. Grant pulls his mouth from hers with a gasp, his breathing ragged. He stands, fingers curling into fists at his sides, eyes closed as Skye watches him fight to stay in control. She sees the instant that it happens, the way that he forces one hand open, his grip firm on her wrist as he lifts her hand from his dick, letting out a shuddering exhale as he opens his eyes to look at her.

 

 

 

 

 

“Your turn.” Grant’s voice shakes as he says it, but it’s clear that he has no intention of allowing Skye to continue what she’s doing so, with a slight pout, she pushes herself away from him, slips her fingers under the waist of her pajama pants and drags them down as far as her knees. Grant watches as she shifts backwards, stretching her legs out in front of her to enable her to push them the rest of the way to the ground. Then slowly, deliberately, she slides herself back up the bed. His eyes take it all in, every move that she makes, and he stands at the foot of her bed for what feels like an age, as though he’s memorizing every inch of her. Skye feels her skin start to heat up under his gaze, and just when she thinks she can’t take any more, he steps forward and kneels on the bed at her feet.

 

 

 

 

Grant’s touch is feather-light at first, just a hint of pressure on her calf, the whisper of his breath on her skin. She moves her hips slightly, shifting with impatience and a need that she doesn’t know how to satisfy. Then she feels the scrape of his jaw along her inner thigh, his stubble deliciously rough on her sensitive flesh, and her clit throbs as Grant drags his fingers through her damp curls. She chases the delicious sensation of friction that she somehow knows will give her the release that she craves.

 

 

 

 

 

Skye watches through her lashes as Grant spreads her open with his hands before dipping his head to taste her with his tongue. His mouth is hot, his tongue firm against her and she gasps his name as he slides a finger up into her cunt. She pushes her hips against him, her body knowing just what she needs, and Grant flicks his tongue across her clit. She feels him pushing up more firmly inside her, leaving her light-headed and breathless, and she’s moaning a garbled nonsense of pleas interspersed with his name. She tangles her fingers in the sheets at her sides, bucking her hips up against his mouth with every move that he makes. She can feel her orgasm building at the base of her spine, warm and heavy, and, as Grant sucks her clit firmly into his mouth and crooks his fingers up inside her again, she feels it rip through her, lightning and quicksilver racing along every nerve.

 

 

 

 

Skye finally catches her breath and forces her eyes open. Grant’s still lying with his hands gripping her hips, wide-eyed as he stares up at her face, his mouth still slick with her. She nudges him up towards her with a heel at his back, and he grins at her as he gets the idea. Skye sees the moment that he goes to wipe the dampness from his chin, but she leans forwards and claims his mouth before he gets the chance. She can taste herself, salt-sweet on his tongue, and the wave of possession that she feels almost overwhelms her. She wants him like this forever, marked with the scent of her, the imprints of his fingers on her skin indelible proof that they belong together.

 

 

 

 

 

Skye can feel the weight of his cock against her thigh, as Grant lies flush against her, his fingers combing gently through her hair. She drifts her fingers up his back, hooks one leg around his hips and takes a steadying breath before shifting until his cock lies hard between her legs. She can tell from the way every one of his muscles goes tense beneath her that he knows exactly what she’s doing.

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you sure?” His voice is barely more than a whisper, but she hears every word. She nods in the affirmative, not trusting her own voice. She’s so wet that there’s barely any resistance as he positions his cock at her entrance and pushes slowly up into her, a slow burn and stretch of pleasure laced with just a hint of pain. She grips his shoulders hard enough that she knows she’s going to leave marks, feels her nails catch on his skin as he bottoms out. Grant somehow manages to bring his mouth to hers for a bruising kiss that leaves her gasping, and then he moves. He’s slow at first, careful with her, murmuring words of reassurance and telling her that she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. She doesn’t need the words though, can see it written in his eyes and over every inch of his body. It feels insanely good, the way he fills her with every stroke, thick and hot inside her.

 

 

 

 

Skye has no idea what she’s saying to him, a litany of words spilling from her mouth as she urges him on, _faster_ and _harder_ and _deeper_. Their skin is slick, a sheen of sweat that cools the searing heat of his body on hers, and he she runs her tongue along his jaw, tastes salt and desire and _Grant_. His hips stutter as she reaches down between them, obeying her body’s commands without question. She pushes hard on her clit, and Grant lets out a low moan as her cunt clenches around his cock.

 

 

 

 

“ _Fuck_ , Skye.” His voice is raw and she’s never heard him like this, so close to falling apart. She feels a heady sense of triumph that she’s the reason that it’s happening, and she does it again, squeezes herself around him as he thrusts up against her, slamming his pelvis against hers. Her back arches off the bed as he buries himself so deep that it almost hurts, pushing her closer and closer to the edge every time he moves. It happens almost before she realizes, molten silver racing through her veins as she comes, Grant’s voice grating out her name as he manages two short thrusts before tumbling after her.

 

 

 

 

 

They both lie there, panting, neither one of them apparently wanting to be the first to move. Skye strokes her fingers up and down Grant’s back, chuckling as he lets out a small murmur of disapproval and flinches away when she hits a ticklish spot. Eventually he lifts his head from her shoulder and grins up at her. She runs her thumb across his lower lip, smiling when he presses a soft kiss to it, and traces the scattering of freckles across his cheekbones with a finger.

 

 

 

 

 

“I missed you.” His voice is quiet, as though this is an admission that he doesn’t quite know if he should make. She abruptly realizes that she’s not the only one who’s scared of the depth of the connection between them. He’s just been better at hiding his fear. She doesn’t say a word, just gives him a shaky smile, not trusting her voice. Whatever he sees on her face is obviously enough to reassure him, because his face softens and he slides a hand under her chin before gently pressing his mouth to hers.  

 

 

 

 

 

“What do we do now?” Skye doesn’t want to have to ask. She’s terrified that Grant’s going to tell her that he needs to leave her behind again.

 

 

 

 

“Now we work out a way to get you the hell out of here before Garrett finishes whatever it is he needs you for.” Grant’s voice is bitter, dripping with loathing as he says John’s name. Skye knows that it’s not only for her sake, that there’s something more to it that he’s not saying.

 

 

 

 

 

“What did he do to you?” Skye whispers it into the air between them, giving him the chance to pretend not to hear her. She almost wishes he would, certain that she’s never going to be ready to hear the truth about the man who raised her.

 

 

 

 

 

“He made me who I am.” Grant’s voice is distant, but she can hear the hurt that twines through his words, too recent to be fully healed. She traces one of his scars and wonders just what kind of teacher John was to him. “He taught me that feelings are a weakness.”

 

 

 

 

Skye knows that lesson only too well. It’s one she never quite managed to learn despite the years John spent trying to mark it into her skin. Her grip on Grant tightens slightly, willing him to understand that John’s wrong. That he’s always been wrong. The way that they feel is their greatest strength and it’s the thing that’s going to set them free.

 

 

 

 

 

“We’ll run. We’ll be free of him.” Skye prays that it’s not a lie that she’s telling. That one day they truly can be free of the lies that John has somehow managed to trap both of them in. She feels strong now, though, with Grant at her side. Like she could take on the world and win.

 

 

 

 

 

“I hope so.” Grant presses a light kiss to her forehead. “It’s getting light, I have to go.” He kisses her again before he lifts himself off the bed, reaching for his clothes, discarded what seems like a lifetime ago. Skye suddenly realizes that the sky is beginning to change, a blush of gold starting to appear on the horizon. She knows he has to leave, that they can’t run the risk of John or Raina catching them, but she already feels as though it’s going to rip her in two. She can hardly breathe past the weight in her chest. He’s dressed and ready to leave long before she feels as though she’s prepared to let him go. She pulls the sheets up over herself, suddenly shivering despite the promised warmth of the day that’s dawning.

 

 

 

 

 

“Be careful or he’ll know something’s wrong. He always knows.” Skye doesn’t have to say anything more than that. She see’s the understanding in Grant’s eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

“I’ll come back for you tonight. Be ready.” With a final kiss that leaves her gasping, he’s gone, and Skye feels more alone than ever.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Skye drifts through the morning in a haze, reliving the night before in flashes that seem infinitely more real than the world before of her eyes. John and Raina greet her cheerfully as she stumbles out for breakfast, the evidence of her lack of sleep clearly written in the bruised circles beneath her eyes. She gratefully accepts a mug of coffee and almost makes the mistake of correcting John when he calls her Daisy, remembers at the last second that he’s not supposed to know that she’s worked out who she is.

 

 

 

 

 

She swallows the coffee in great gulps, heedless of the way is almost burns her mouth, reaching for a refill almost before the first cup is drained. Despite the fact that it should be making her more alert her mind feels dull, a fog settling like a blanket across her thoughts. John watches her intently, his eyes alert and so clear that she feels like she should be able to read the thoughts behind them. Skye drifts aimlessly through the apartment, only vaguely aware of the footsteps that are never far behind, before she falls into a doze in the library in the middle of the morning. She wakes to find the fog gone, but with a bruise at the crook of her elbow and the disconcerting sensation that her body doesn’t fully belong to her.

 

 

 

 

“Daisy, are you okay?” Raina sounds worried. She never worries. Skye feels an icy finger of fear snake up her spine. “You don’t look quite like yourself.” Raina’s hands are deliciously cool on Skye’s forehead. She hadn’t realised how hot she was. She needs water. Water will help.

 

 

 

 

 

“I think I have a fever.” Skye’s voice sounds strange in her own ears. Vibrations echo in the room long after they should have faded. She thinks that she sees her words skipping over Raina’s skin and she shakes her head slightly to clear it. “I just need water. Maybe a lie down.” Skye stumbles against the doorframe as she goes to leave the room and only Raina’s arms stop her from actually falling. Her blood dances in her veins, mimicking the way that the wood trembles slightly under her hands. A chill of full-blown dread sweeps through her as she realizes that something’s incredibly wrong.

 

 

 

 

 

“Skye, sit down.” John’s voice is firm and it doesn’t even occur to her not to obey. She’s been listening to him her whole life. It’s not until she’s perched on the nearest chair that she realizes he used her name. Her _real_ name. Skye clenches her hands into fists and crosses her arms to hide the fact that they’re starting to shake. “Oops. That’s not what I’m supposed to call you. Is it, Daisy? Although I suppose the secret’s out now.” He shouldn’t know who she is. He can’t know.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Skye’s trained for this. _He_ trained her for this. She’s not going to break. John’s answering laugh is terrifying, vicious and harsh as it dances through the air.

 

 

 

 

 

“That’s my girl. You may hate me now, but I _made_ you. You’re _my_ creation.” John’s words hit her like a punch to the gut, an echo of Grant’s confession from the night before, and Skye doesn’t think it’s a coincidence.

 

 

 

 

 

“I don’t belong to you. You don’t know anything about me.” Skye spits the words at him, allowing all her anger and frustration to show. There’s a faint rumble in the distance, thunder before the storm, but Skye can see nothing but cloudless blue when she turns her head to look.

 

 

 

 

 

“Maybe not everything, but the parts that I don’t know, Ward does. And, despite what the two of you might like to think, I know _everything_ about him.” John announces it triumphantly, a final flourish that neatly shatters Skye’s dreams.

 

 

 

 

 

“He told you who I am.” Skye can’t quite hide the bitter disappointment in her voice.

 

 

 

 

 

“Of course not,” John lets out a snort of derision, but all Skye feels is overwhelming relief that Grant kept her secrets. That he’s the man she believed he was. John smirks before he continues. “You’re his weakness. I should have seen it. It’s my own fault really for not realizing it was the one thing about him that I never quite managed to control.” John moves closer, leans casually on the back of the armchair where she sits, lowering his voice so that it’s as though he’s sharing a confidence. “No, I’ve been watching Skye. I’m always watching.” Something in his voice makes the hairs on the back of her arms lift, goosebumps springing up across her skin. “I saw you work out that I was keeping something from you. I saw you searching for answers. I even let Grant find out the truth for you. And then I gave you exactly what you were looking for.”

 

 

 

 

 

Skye feels dizzy, like she can’t possibly draw another breath past the terror that has lodged firmly in her chest. She can feel the world beginning to tremble under her feet and somehow there’s a knowledge in her chest that she’s the one making it happen. She’s becoming something she doesn’t understand and it’s too late for anyone to save her now.

 

 

 

 

 

“There are cameras?” Skye doesn’t even bother to mask the contempt that seeps into her voice, knowing the answer even before she asks the question.

 

 

 

 

 

“Everywhere, Skye.” John chuckles at her obvious discomfort. Skye gets to her feet, determined to finally leave this place and never look back. She makes it as far as the door before John’s voice stops her in her tracks. “I thought that you’d worked it out by now, Skye. You’re never going to escape. But you _are_ going to fulfill your potential. Raina and I have made sure of that.”

 

 

 

 

 

The world tilts on its axis and Skye finds herself somehow on the floor, her cheek resting against blissfully cool tiles. She tries to get up, willing her body to respond, but nothing’s working. She can’t move, just lies there, helpless on the floor at John’s feet. She supposes it’s fitting since she’s been nothing but his puppet for most of her life.

 

 

 

 

“You can feel it, can’t you, that you’re beginning to change? We don’t know what you’re going to become, but this is the culmination of years of work. You’re a legend, you know, the child with the ability to destroy worlds. I’ve been hiding you for years, keeping the monsters away.” John’s voice is soft now, a caress across her skin.

 

 

 

 

 

“You’re the monster.” Skye grits it out between labored breaths.

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh, Skye. That hurts. I’ve kept you alive, taught you everything you know. You wouldn’t turn your back on me now, would you?” John’s laughter is the last thing Skye hears as the world goes dark.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Skye, wake up.” Grant’s voice is like music in her ears, a gentle vibration that her blood dances in time to. “Skye.” More insistent now, faster and faster swirling through her veins. Her eyes snap open on Grant’s worried face. “Hey there, what happened?” His hands are gentle as he pulls her upright, helps her balance with one hand braced against the wall of glass that lines the side of the room.

 

 

 

 

 

“Where is he?” Skye can feel them, John and Raina, faint vibrations in the air around her. Grant cups her face with his hands, smoothing his thumbs across the worried creases on her forehead. His smile settles the sensation that’s tearing through her, molecules snapping into position as she focuses on his face. She can breathe again. “Grant, where’s John?”

 

 

 

 

 

“He left with Raina twenty minutes ago. He’s gone, Skye. It’s okay. We’re okay.” He pulls her into his embrace, her head fitting neatly beneath his chin, her fingers twisting in the soft cotton of his shirt. She can feel his lips on the crown of her head as he pulls her hair loose from the tie that binds it. Grant runs his fingers across her scalp, slow and calm, until her racing heart starts to settle. “Look.” Grant gently pulls away from her and turns her to face the window. The sky is painted in vast swathes of crimson and gold, blood and fire on an everlasting canvas. Skye leans back against Grant’s chest, his body heat chasing the last of the chill from her bones, entranced by the beauty of the setting sun.

 

 

 

 

“They did something to me.” Skye’s grateful that she can’t see his face. She can feel the nervous energy that springs up around him at her words though. She’s beginning to understand how this works. “I’m different.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Skye, you’ve always been different.” Grant’s words are somehow exactly what she needs to hear. “We’ll make it work.” She twists around, uses the lapel of his jacket to pull herself onto her toes, and kisses him. His heart races in time with hers, she can feel it under her fingers, in her bones. She believes him with every fiber of her being.

 

 

 

 

“Well, well. Isn’t this a heartwarming little scene?” John’s voice shatters the quiet and Skye knows in her soul that this is where the dream ends. She can feel it in the way that the world around her goes suddenly quiet. The calm before the storm. “Please, don’t stop on my account.”

 

 

 

 

 

Grant stays exactly where he is, using his body as a shield to protect her. She knows that it’s a futile exercise, knows that John will stop at nothing to get what he wants. Skye reaches up and slides her hand around the back of Grant’s neck, memorizing the way his skin feels under her fingers, the soft satin of his hair under her palm. She pulls him down towards her and presses her lips to his, praying that she can somehow distill everything she feels for him into a single moment. She breathes his name in a soft exhale before bracing her hand on his chest.

 

 

 

 

 

It takes only a single second of concentration to muster the energy required to send him stumbling away from her. She dimly registers the fact that he’s shouting her name, fighting against the force that pins him to the other side of the room. The waves of frustration and his need to protect her batter against barriers that she hastily puts in his way and, although he manages to fight enough to take three small steps towards her, he stays safely out of the line of fire between her and John.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What did you do to me?” Skye fires the question at John, her voice steady.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I’ve simply made you into the person you were always meant to be. You should be thanking me.” John’s face twists into an expression that she thinks is meant to be a smile. She realizes in that moment that he’s completely insane. That he has been for years. There’s almost no sign of the person who raised her in the face of the man standing before her. Skye tells herself that she’ll be doing the world a favor if she kills him but somehow she can’t quite bring herself to deal the final blow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You need to let me go.” Skye’s voice is calm. She knows what she wants. She’s going to walk out of here with Grant at her side and never think about John again. She’s determined to make it happen. “You and me? We’re done.” Skye realizes her mistake almost before the words leave her mouth. John’s face transforms once again into that of a stranger. Rage makes his features ugly and unfamiliar.

 

 

 

 

 

“We’ll never be done, Daisy.” She feels the bullet coming, but she doesn’t quite know how to push it aside, most of her attention focused on keeping Grant safely against the wall. Blazing white heat rips through her shoulder and it’s all she can manage to keep standing. She feels the instant Grant breaks through the barriers that hold him, sprinting across the floor towards her. There’s a _one-two-three_ report that she feels in every fiber of her being. Glass explodes outwards, a rain of crystal shards reflecting crimson fire. She watches Grant in endless slow motion, reaching his hand towards her, his chest streaked with the colors of the setting sun. She sees his smile and then she feels him fall, freewheeling into the world she’s been so desperate to enter. She feels her heart fracture as fragile flesh and brittle bone shatter on the unyielding concrete below.

 

 

 

 

Skye screams, a wordless howl of rage that makes the world around her start to shake. She throws her mind across the space that separates her from John, starting a chain of unstoppable motion that only ends when he’s nothing more than ashes and dust scattered on the wind.

 

 

 

 

 

Minutes later Skye walks slowly onto the street below, her face streaked with soot, and her losses written in the tear-tracks that run down her cheeks. She already knows what she’s going to find, squeezes her eyes tight against the truth that burns harsh in her throat, closes them in defiance of a world that finally blurs out of focus. She struggles to breathe against the weight that crushes her chest, her dreams lying ripped apart at her feet. She builds herself a skeleton of steel and ice around a blazing core of fury, before dragging her eyes to the broken body that lies before her.

 

 

 

 

 

Grant’s face is somehow unblemished, the only part of him spared the evidence of the sacrifice he made. For her. There’s just the bare hint of a smile on his lips and Skye reaches out a trembling hand, presses her fingers to his cheek, sketching a gentle dance across the freckles that lie like stardust on his skin. He stares, unseeing, up at a blood-red sky, rust and ochre reflected in dull eyes that used to dance with life. His lips are still soft, cool against the raging heat of her sorrow, but his arms no longer reach for her, the strands of hair that whip across her face go untouched, and Skye knows that the man she loves is gone. She gives Grant the only memorial that she can, brings her prison crashing down behind her, a towering tribute of twisted metal and rubble that will never cage her again. She turns away from the only life she’s ever had and steps into the unknown.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also come and tell me that I'm a terrible person on [tumblr](http://catteo.tumblr.com/)


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